The last Prophecy
by winterspringsummerfall
Summary: It wasn't possible. But, since she had become a witch, so much possibility had been laid before her. Was this so much of a stretch? And was it really so hard to believe in happy endings in the wizarding world? If she could jump time, fly on dragons, and save the world from a madman, couldn't she believe this?
1. Chapter 1

When she awoke, she did so slowly. Perhaps because of the potion still in her system, perhaps because she hazily recalled the events leading up until she drifted off. Either way, she kept her eyes closed, and as unobtrusively as possible, gave a slight tug to each of her limbs with her eyes still closed.

Unfortunately, it was just as she feared in her hazy awakening. Her hands were tied, over her head. While keeping the outward appearance of sleep, her mind rapidly forced itself to recall the events leading up to that moment.

SNAPE. He wasn't dead. She had been so elated, so full of gladness at his not having passed on, even after she and the boys had thought they witnessed him die in that dirty boathouse. She remembered now…..it was a month since they defeated the Dark Lord, watched him die in a battle that would become the biggest legend the Wizarding world would ever tell.

They mourned the losses, too high for a battle that featured students rather than soldiers, and too much for Hermione to take all at once. Her depression seemed to get greater the more Celebratory parties she was forced to attend— Wizard designers, anxious for her to wear their creations for every public event she was expected to attend as a member of the "Golden Trio", people shouting questions and adoration at her every time she left the comfort of Gimmauld Place.

The boys, they threw themselves into Auror training, avoiding all but the most necessary of public appearances. But when they did, they had Ginny and Lavender at their sides, in public show of support and love. Hermione though, did her best to fake the smiles and graciously accept accolades. She KNEW she had done her part, and done it well, keeping the boys alive and regretting nothing. Nothing, that is, except her one huge regret of leaving their professor there on the floor of that dirty shack. It haunted her.

It paralyzed her day to day activities. She only left Grimmauld Place when necessary, usually glamoring herself to resemble a nondescript muggle just to get groceries, or when cabin fever became too much. At night, she tossed and turned, dreaming of her professor's last moments, finding a thousand ways to save him in her dreams. She had no idea WHY she kept dreaming of him, of saving him, of finding a way to beat the clock and split herself in two- one part racing away with the boys to finish the war as it had actually happened, the other part kneeling on that dusty floor, taking Snapes head in her hands and forcing potion after potion down his throat while the boys raced off to find their destiny.

It had all been in vein, so it seemed. Until last night. She had just been coming home from a night out with Pavarti, which still seemed strange, although Pavarti had been the one to reach out to her. After 7 years of what could barely be considered friendship, the Gryffendor Patel twin had floo called her weeks ago, asking for a meeting at a muggle coffee shop. Intrigued, Hermione had met her and the two had fallen into an easy shared friendship based on mutual experience, loss and desperately seeking another friendly face in the tumult that had become Post-war wizarding world.

As she arrived home, more than just tipsy, but not quite drunk from a night out in the muggle world (where The Daily Prophet wouldn't find them commiserating in their shared drowning of sorrows and recollections of friends now gone), she started a bit at the outskirts of her wards. She remembered thinking to herself 'that's strange, I almost ALWAYS put up my best wards when stepping out.' It was odd- her flat still had wards up, but they, for lack of a better word, tasted strange to her. Smelt funny? Well, her head was fuzzy. Mai Tai's tasted good, but did nothing for her sense of magic. Her logic took over, and she rationalized that nothing could breech her wards! They were keyed to her magical signature. She was just being a silly drunken witch. So she unwarded her door and walked inside.

The first thing she noticed upon entering her flat was the smell of patchouli and spice. 'Odd', she thought. 'That smells like my dreams- I haven't smelt that since…'. And as she shrugged off her cute red trench and kicked off her shoes, she thought hard about the last time she had smelled—

'Oh, my God' was the thought she had as a vivid recollection of the last time she had smelled that particular combination of spices hit her all at once. 'The shrieking shack' she thought, then snapped her head up to see a ghost sitting at her table, drinking tea from one of her cups. The bright blonde head sitting next to him, smirking at her was too much for her to compute. Her jaw dropped, and she squeaked out, "Severus? But you're d-d-dead? Malfoy? What?" And then she gave into the exhaustion and alcohol and everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

3 and 1/2 weeks previous (1 week post battle of Hogwarts):

Hermione sat, unblinking, on the couch in front of the warm fireplace in the corner of the library. Her mind drifted, unbidden, again, to that night. She saw herself, on her knees, blinking back tears, frantically wracking her brain to conjure a flask, receptacle, anything, to help Harry catch their professors tears before her mind registered she had flasks in her purse. Finally catching up to her thoughts, she pulled out the flask with a quick accio, and watched Harry collect her former professors memories via his tears. Task over, her mind drifted back a few months…

(2 months previous to the final battle):

She had been startled out of her deep, dreamless sleep. HARRY! her mind instantly poured cold water over itself, and made her body leap off its cot. Taking less than 2 seconds to familiarize herself with her surroundings- she realized she was still in the tent, Harry on watch, no Ron to be found (or thought of at this point, she reminded herself). Harry was on watch, she remembered, and tried to settle back to sleep. But something was off. Something didn't smell right? Feel right? Her sleepiness fell off around her with that last thought, and she peeked out of the tent, determined to find Harry sleeping or just herself being paranoid and ready to return to the semi-comfort of her cot in this protected tent.

But to her horror, Harry was not standing sentry at the tree. He was not safe in its branches, nor hiding among its concaves. She could not feel him inside the shelter of her wards. Was that what had woken her? Had she felt him shift the wards as he left? Had he left her alone? She fought down her panic like a case of indigestion. Rational thought, she thought. Maybe he went to relieve himself, she thought. Maybe—all of a sudden, she saw a shift so slight to her wards, so slight if she hadn't been looking in just that place in just that time, she would never have seen it. Harry? But no. This tasted different. Smelt familiar, like an itch she had been longing to scratch, but sweeter, like a dream she had all but forgotten.

She knew instinctively that she had been revealed to whatever was lurking. She was being watched, even as she was watching. But, as she had learned early to trust her instincts as a witch, instead of relying on what others expected of her, she tasted the intentions of her watcher. No malice, no cruel intent- it was curious, studying her as she would have studied for a test at Hogwarts. Her heartbeat slowly returned to normal. Curious, she sniffed the air. Whatever it was, it was just as curious as she.

The second she dropped her fear to indulge in her curiosity, she suddenly felt a relaxing sensation, and had an immediate urge to seek out this new sensation to her wards- knew instinctively it was not here to harm her, even in Harrys absence. She knew she would have to make the first move. She briefly thought of grabbing Headmaster Black's portrait to see if he had any advice or insight (as he had not led her astray so far, surprisingly. But then again, Slytherins always did have their OWN interests at heart, so she reasoned that if she and Harry were on the wrong path, Headmaster Black would let it immediately be known, as he had no interest as his future as kindling under the Dark Lord's tenure at Hogwarts).

As she made up her mind to step out of the tent and closer to the blood wards she had drawn up, she knew instinctively it was not Ron. She would know in a heartbeat if it was Ron. Not because of anything magical, but because this was a more powerful attack on her magical senses. She burned. She could taste the power, the aura of a magical signature she had not tasted or smelt since her time at Hogwarts. As he stepped from the shadow of the majestic oak she and Harry used as their sentry tower, she placed the scent at once— so his voice was only a slight surprise for her.

"Ms. Granger. Indeed, a fortunate surprise. I had hoped to still find you here after I sent Potter on his quest for a most valuable item." Her heart and breath froze for an instant of time where her mind frantically calculated whether or not Snape would be received as enemy or friend. In the end, her rational mind won out, after realizing he could have killed her easily anytime before now if he had already breached her wards.

As her eyes made him out of the darkness and trees in the midnight moonlight, a mere shadow amongst the forest, he moved towards her, hands up in an act of supplication, and slowed as he got within 10 feet of her. "Ms. Granger, I come in peace" he said, slowly coming into the light of her Lumos. "My wand is in my robes; and if you stay calm, there will be no move to use it."

She had pulled her wand instinctively, but was now wavering between thought of "What the FUCK are you thinking? He KILLED Dumbledore?!", and "He has no reason to show himself. He could have killed me in my sleep as easily as he breached my wards better than a snatcher could do when I was 2 feet away." The last thought won out, and she cautiously lowered her wand. Truth be told, she was so so tired of the fight. If he managed to trick her into a nefarious plot, then she wasn't a witch worth making it to the end of the war. But her gut still told her otherwise, that she should hear him out, no matter the consequences.

He stepped into a moonlit patch between the oak and her tent and smirked in a way so familiar it was comforting. "Hello, you infuriating Know-it-all," he said, in a voice she was certain she had never heard from him before—if she wasn't mistaken, it had a hint of familiarity and gladness to it. Her breath wooshed out in a huff, and after a moment she smiled.

"Hello Professor. Funny meeting you here. Out for a constitutional this lovely evening? Or has everyone's favorite Slytherin Headmaster been keeping you informed of our plans? If it makes it even, we've been listening to news about you on the wireless. Seems you got a promotion in our absence. Are congratulations in order, of is there another reason you've come?"


End file.
